


Un Grant Passionné

by madneto



Series: Westchester Parks and Rec [2]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9781001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madneto/pseuds/madneto
Summary: Despite his better judgement, Erik begins to come to terms with just how deeply he's invested in... the town of Westchester. Definitely just the town and not his co-worker and secret boyfriend of several months, Charles. When a termite infestation at City Hall spells disaster for Erik's grant writing plans, however, Armando suggests that Erik and Charles spend the evening writing the grants together in Erik's hotel room where Erik's feelings get even more complicated; complicated and dangerous if he and Charles want to keep their jobs.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikeracity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/gifts).



> From ike's prompt: charles and/or erik getting jealous OR charles and erik sharing clothes (have I prompted that before?)

During the first few months of living in Westchester, Erik had barely noticed his living quarters. The scratchy sheets that covered the lumpy hotel mattress didn’t faze him, even as he woke up with backaches more often than not. Uncomfortable beds were simply par for the course when half your life is lived on the road, traveling from town to town fixing budgets. The lifeless decor in his rented room didn’t bother him either; he hardly looked at it, and he never brought any pictures or decorations of his own when he and Armando travelled. What was the point in getting attached to a place when you just knew you were going to move on in a few month’s time? Pictures were just one more thing to drag around. Besides, Erik had no one to bring pictures _of_ , except his mother, and they spoke on the phone frequently enough that it didn’t feel as if he needed a photo around to think of her.

Because of this transitory lifestyle, Erik had never thought of himself as a particularly sentimental person or a person invested in creature comforts. Sure his bed in his small studio apartment back in Albany is comfortable enough, and his couch is nice. He even has a few paintings that he likes scattered around his living space, and in his closet of an office in the capital building. Last time he was home he impulse-bought a deep fryer online after watching a YouTube video on how to make pickle chips, but it arrived the day he and Armando were sent out on assignment again. The point is, he’s not devoid of taste; he just doesn’t have a lot of time to indulge himself.

And that’s fine. His main indulgence is his job. He loves throwing himself into a problem and finding a unique way to fix it. He loves watching communities get themselves back on their feet after rolling with the budget revisions he and Armando have put in place. A quiet part of him even loves the joy and the confidence people get when they realize they have the power to rebuild their governments in a way that works for them now that their budgets are balanced. Of course, no one thanks him very happily if they thank him at all. Armando is the one who usually gets the praise. Even people who had been resistant to their help at first _always_ fawn over Armando by the end, which makes sense. Armando likes everyone and everyone likes Armando back. Erik had had no illusions that Westchester would be different.

So, as he and Charles fall into… whatever this is, scheduling lunch dates disguised as lunch meetings, managing to make out in Erik’s car in a secluded part of the parking lot just before town hall meetings, texting each other dumb inside jokes and kissy faces throughout the day, sleeping together - always at Charles’ place - almost every night… The feeling of belonging, of contentment, sneaks up on Erik insidiously with cloying warmth. Sure, they have to keep everything secret or risk losing their careers thanks to Armando’s stupid rule that forbids relationships between coworkers - and especially between bosses and their subordinates, which Erik technically is to Charles. But the sordidness and secrecy is kinda hot. Often, as much as Erik would like to lean over and kiss the whipped cream off the corner of Charles’ smiling mouth at a “breakfast meeting” at JJ’s, it feels almost as thrilling to only be able to run his foot suggestively along Charles’ until Charles’ cheeks color that adorable pink.

Its testament to how complacent Erik has gotten that when Charles’ alarm clock wakes him up one morning in late November, he merely groans loudly and flicks the snooze button with his powers without thinking, curling in closer around Charles, who over the course of the night has apparently become little spoon. He can feel Charles’ sleepy touch against the surface of his thoughts, a presence that had become so familiar so fast that in the quiet moments when Erik allows himself to reflect, he wonders how he ever lived without it before. It’s comforting this morning as it always is, and Erik pushes his own sleepy contentment back at Charles, feeling a burst of warmth in return. Before, Erik rarely allowed himself to sleep in even an extra ten minutes. He knows Charles wouldn’t usually either, but they’re lazy together, at least in this regard.

He nuzzles closer into Charles’ hair, breathing in the light, fresh scent of his shampoo, bussing a kiss across Charles’ ear. Charles hums softly, locking their fingers together over his sternum, sending the impression of a kiss so it brushes Erik’s mouth. One of Charles’ feet hooks around Erik’s calf and Erik smiles into Charles’ hair as he lets himself drift again. He’s so content and sleepy he almost doesn’t register when Charles starts to move against him, grinding his hips back into Erik with slow purpose. Erik groans softly again as their interlocked hands inch lower down Charles’ stomach. 

“Really, Charles?” he murmurs. “We have work.”

“You hit snooze,” Charles points out, his voice rough with sleep and quiet with affection. “That gives us just under ten minutes.”

Erik snorts. “Ten minutes isn’t nearly enough time to do _that_.”

“Mmm, well you could try,” Charles answers. His breath hitches as their hands slip underneath the waistband of his boxers and Erik’s fingers wrap around his half-hard cock. Sighing, he rolls slowly over so he and Erik are face to face, his own hand diving into Erik’s sweatpants as he trails kisses along Erik’s jaw.

Erik turns his head, catching Charles lips in a deep kiss. They both have morning breath, but like so many things that would normally annoy Erik, now he can’t bring himself to care. He slides his tongue into Charles’ mouth just as he flicks his thumb over Charles’ foreskin.

:: _I suppose I could probably get you off in-_ :: he checks the hands of the clock :: _-six minutes_.::

Charles huffs into the kiss. :: _I’ll get you off in five, then,_ :: he sends, lips curling against Erik’s.

:: _I’ll get you off in four,_ :: Erik returns.

:: _Three_.::

:: _One_.::

:: _Now you’re just being ridiculous_ ,:: Charles replies, changing hands so he can grab Erik’s butt with the other. Charles always seems so fixated on his butt, to the point that Erik is sure there’s some sort of Freudian term for the looks Charles will give it across the room when he thinks Erik isn’t looking. Ultimately, though it always works out well for Erik, so he has no complaints.

Five minutes later, a sweaty and triumphant Charles watches Erik pointedly, one eyebrow raised, as he reaches over from his perch atop Erik’s lap and turns off the alarm clock right before it can sound. Erik snorts dismissively, chest still heaving, and rolls his eyes to the ceiling. Sweat is making Charles’ silky sheets start to cling to his back, and a treacherous part of him whispers about how much nicer they feel than the motel sheets downtown.

“Okay, but you came too, so I doubt that even counts,” Erik retorts, and Charles laughs, deep and pleased.

“Whatever you say, darling,” he replies. He leans down and presses a firm kiss to Erik’s furrowed brow before shifting off of him. “At least we still have time for breakfast. I could call Moira and ask her to meet at JJ’s and you could just show up? Give me that hang-dog look so I can invite you over?”

He hops out of bed, far too chipper for this hour and for having just given Erik a literally mind-bending orgasm, and strides over to the dresser, stripping out of his soiled boxers on the way. Erik watches him the whole time, forcing a frown so Charles will focus on that and not on the surge of affection he has to shove to the back of his mind. He sits up and swings his feet over the edge of the mattress.

“Why do I always have to be the sad one?” he asks. “I have friends.”

Charles shakes his head, though when he looks at Erik over his shoulder he at least looks repentant. “You can’t ask Armando out to breakfast. If he sees us together and suspected something, you _know_ how ugly it could get.” Still, he holds out a hand to Erik, and when Erik stands and crosses the space to take it, Charles pulls him in for another gentle kiss. “Maybe we can try that when there’s a fourth person. It would make him less of a third wheel. Less suspect, hopefully.”

Erik makes a noncommittal noise, but when Charles begins tugging him toward the bathroom, he follows willingly, turning on the taps to the temperature he knows Charles likes. As they slide into their morning routine, Erik tries to ignore how easy it is to move around Charles like planets in orbit. They shower and brush their teeth and put in contacts with a practiced ease and synchronization, each ignoring the fact that they’ll have to pretend, as soon as they leave the house in separate cars at separate times, that nothing this morning happened - that nothing any of the mornings and nights these past three months has happened.

When they get done with their shower, Charles calls Moira and gets her to meet them for breakfast - well, gets her to meet Charles. Erik’s going to show up five minutes after. They part in Charles’ driveway with another fleeting kiss and a pat to Erik’s butt, which makes Erik roll his eyes, heat creeping up his neck. As Charles drives away, Erik forces himself to look at some files in his front seat and not at the car and the man inside. Still, he can’t help but dip his power into Charles’ watch, warm from Charles’ skin, following it as they both move farther and farther down the block.

********************************

Further on in the day, Erik has lost much of the glow of that morning. He spent the vast majority of his morning playing phone tag with the head of the sanitation department who’s been requesting more garbage trucks without his or Armando’s approval, his lunch break was shunted aside in favor of a meeting with a very irate head of public health whose safe sex posters all around town had been defaced by a group of kids, and the six grant proposals that are due in D.C. by Monday that he had been forced to put off thanks to other duties are all not finished. With Westchester just getting back on its feet, Erik wants to prove to the citizens - and okay, maybe especially Charles - that he won’t just take funding away when he needs to; he’ll also work for it in abundance.

Infuriatingly Angel, who Armando had moved to be his and Erik’s secretary because he “wanted to foster a sense of purpose and achievement” in her, has also been deleting all of Erik’s voicemails “accidentally”. And, as the cherry on this cake of bullshit, there’s something wrong with the heating system. There’s no hot air pumping through any office in city hall, so everyone’s resorted to wearing their coats - and even some people their mittens - indoors. As Erik sits, staring numbly at his computer screen and the first half-finished grant of the day, Erik wonders what circle of hell he’s wandered into since this morning and how in the fuck he gets back out. If Erik remembers his _Inferno_ right, it must be the ninth. That doesn’t bode well.

Neither does the fact that Armando’s head has just popped in from Erik’s doorway, a bright smile on his face and a knitted rainbow ski cap on his head. Erik’s heart sinks without his quite knowing why.

“Erik!” Armando pipes cheerily. “How is your afternoon?”

“Awful,” Erik answers honestly. “And I have a feeling you’re going to make it worse.”

Armando’s smile becomes slightly more fixed as he steps the rest of the way into the room. “I hoped if I came in here with a cheery expression you might be less upset.”

“When you tell me…?”

“When I tell you that some rogue raccoons somehow found their way into the heating system and ate all the wires last night,” Armando finishes, his smile turning more into a grimace.

Erik collapses forward, his head in his hands. “Good Christ.”

“I know,” Armando says sympathetically. Erik feels a hand patting his shoulder though his thick winter coat. “But it turns out it was a blessing in disguise. If the raccoons hadn’t gotten in and eaten the wiring, pest control would never have found the termite infestation.”

“ _WHAT?!_ ” Erik shoots upright in his chair again, dislodging Armando’s hand, eyes wide in disbelief.

Armando nods. “I’m afraid it’s true. I was just about to send out an email letting everyone know that as City Manager, I’m shutting City Hall down for the rest of the week and weekend so it can be fumigated. I thought I should give you a heads up first, though. I thought you wouldn’t have any problem with my decision.”

Erik shakes his head slowly. “Not with your plan, but I have six grant proposals to finish tonight and to get shipped to Washington by Monday,” he sighs, frowning. “I’ll never get them done in time.”

“Why don’t you call in reinforcements?” Armando asks. “I’ve got my hands full with the newly appointed school board, otherwise I’d offer. But surely someone else in the building has grant writing experience.” He pauses, brightening again, this time genuinely. “What about Charles Xavier? The Parks department has way more grants than any other department in Westchester thanks to him.”

Swallowing, Erik looks away back at his computer screen, biting the inside of his lip and hoping against hope that Armando doesn’t notice the smile twitching at the corner of his lip. It’s stupid that his pulse should race with excitement at the prospect of writing grants all night with Charles Xavier… but it does. As much as Erik enjoys the physical aspects of their relationship, there’s nothing more exhilarating than watching Charles attack a difficult problem. Belatedly realizing Armando probably expects some kind of answer, Erik nods jerkily.

“Yeah,” he says. “Smart thinking.”

“Great!” Armando replies. “Go ahead and pack your stuff up, then. I’m giving everyone a half hour to get what they need and get out. I’ll give you a head start.”

“Thanks,” Erik says, waving as Armando exits. As soon as he’s gone, Erik picks up his phone from the edge of his desk with his powers and starts drafting a text to Charles.

 **Sent:** City Hall’s getting shut down, fyi. Broken heating and termites.

 **Received:** Oh my god, you’re kidding me.

 **Received:** Just like that? We were just about to have a meeting about fundraisers for the park rangers.

 **Sent:** Armando’s sending out the email now. But I have something that might brighten your mood…

 **Received:** Erik, that is the worst pickup line you have ever used.

 **Sent:** No, not that! I have six grants that have to get shipped to D.C. by tomorrow. None of them are done.

 **Received:** Be still my beating heart… I’ll meet you at your hotel room with some takeout?

 **Sent:** I’ll bring the data spreadsheets and financial analyses

 **Sent:** ;)

 **Received:** You keep talking like that we’ll get no work done, Mr. Lehnsherr.

Erik snorts, setting his phone down, but he’s smiling all the same when he hears his laptop ding with a new email. Armando, no doubt. Still grinning, Erik closes the browser then saves his document before turning the computer completely off and sliding it into his bag. It’s all he can do to walk normally out of his office, without a skip in his step, as he nods goodbye to Angel and heads toward his car.

******************************** 

With Charles’ help the first grant is knocked out by the time dinner rolls around and the second follows shortly after. The third, however, gives them a bit more trouble. It’s already midnight as Erik looks up from his finally completed outline, eyes burning with tiredness, and sees Charles sitting on the couch on the far end of the room, still frowning down at the same bipartisan report on educational spending he’d been looking at when Erik started.

“Finished,” he says quietly, and Charles’ head jerks up, frown dissolving into a look of surprise.

“With the whole thing?” he asks, rubbing out a crick in his neck.

Erik shakes his head, pushing himself away from his seat at the desk. “With the outline. But it’s pretty detailed. You want to take a look? Maybe we can switch jobs for a while. You look like you’re getting nowhere with that.” He nods toward the article in Charles’ lap and Charles sighs, closing his eyes and tilting his head back against the backrest.

“It’s just so full of contradictions,” he says. “They want more regulation of spending but less government dollars in the system. Who the hell do they think is going to regulate if there’s no money for regulation? And what does ‘regulation’ mean, anyway? They never say. We all know it’s code for funding cuts, though.”

Erik hums in sympathy and, standing, crosses the room with his laptop, plunking down next to Charles, who opens an eye wearily before closing it again, the slight frown returning. “That, at least, is something you and I can agree upon politically.” He rests a hand softly on Charles’ knee. “You look as tense as I feel. Let’s take a coffee break and change into something a little more comfortable. We deserve it.”

Charles turns, offering him a smile. “That sounds good. You have such nice sweatpants. So soft.”

“Take your pick then,” Erik says, gesturing to the bureau that doubles as a tv stand and pulling out the pajama drawer with his powers.

In answer, Charles stands up, taking a moment to stretch his arms toward the ceiling until Erik hears a satisfying-sounding crack and Charles sighs again. Then, as he heads to pick out some pjs, Erik goes to clean and refill the coffee machine in the bathroom. When he comes back out, two steaming mugs in hand, Charles is curled up on Erik’s bed, watching a PBS cooking show that’s playing quietly in the background. He’s chosen one of Erik’s oldest flannel pair of pants, so broken in and soft that whenever Erik wears them it almost feels like he’s naked, and Erik’s Brown University Debate Team shirt and he has the throw blanket Erik’s mother crocheted for him four Hanukkah’s ago draped around his shoulders.

When he looks up at Erik and smiles, Erik feels his heart falter at the same time as his feet, and he pauses, unable to do anything but look for just a moment. It isn’t the first time Charles has worn Erik’s clothes, but it’s the first time Erik’s realized how _normal_ it is for Charles to wear them. Especially here, which is the oddest thing about it all. Charles is curled up, right there on Erik’s bed even though he’s only been in this hotel room a handful of times and never for long, but it’s as if he’s brought to the place whatever hominess it lacked before. It wasn’t art or comfy furniture that this room was missing; it was… whatever this feeling in his chest is. The feeling that’s spreading until it makes Erik feel warm all over and his throat feel a little dry. And he’s still standing here like an idiot.

Noticing that Erik seems to be completely paralyzed and tongue tied, the look on Charles’ face softens, and he crawls to the edge of the bed nearer Erik, holding out a hand. Brain and body kicking back into gear, Erik steps forward and hands over the mug.

“Careful,” he says. “It’s very full and very hot.”

Charles hums acknowledgement and brings the cup to his lips, blowing on it lightly as he shifts over to make room for Erik on the mattress. “Barefoot Contessa’s on,” he says, nodding toward the tv.

“What’s she making?”

“Spicy Hermit Bars,” Charles answers, grinning across the top of his mug. “You in dessert form.”

Erik rolls his eyes, setting his mug down on the bedside table and opening the pajama drawer again as he undoes his belt simultaneously with his powers. As quickly as he can he shucks off his work clothes and slips into a pair of sweats and a Clash t-shirt. Exponentially more comfortable, he sidles up next to Charles, grabbing the coffee mug and sitting back against the headboard close enough that their shoulders and arms brush every time he raises the cup to his lips. As the Barefoot Contessa extrapolates on the best kinds of confectioners sugar to buy, Erik tries to relax and let his mind wander to give it a rest from the grueling work of writing. He leans back a little further against the headboard and in doing so leans further into Charles, who makes a quiet noise of contentment and rests his hand on Erik’s knee: comforting, normal.

They sip their coffee in silence, the tv droning on pleasantly in the background. Erik closes his eyes with a soft sigh, focusing on the quiet hum of a mixer, and as he relaxes, he can feel Charles’ mind bumping up more readily against his own like a cat seeking affection. Acquiescing, Erik turns unseeingly and noses into the hair just over Charles’ ear, making Charles chuckle and the sensation in Erik’s mind flex and hum with delight.

Sometimes it’s miraculous to Erik how calming being around Charles can be, especially because Charles is normally such a force of nature filled with boundless energy. Watching him work at the grants tonight has been truly a sight to behold. Charles is brilliant - Erik always knew this - but so rarely do he and Charles get to put their heads together on projects that it took Erik aback at first to be hit with the full weight of Charles’ drive and intelligence. Charles flies through statistics and financial briefings and bi-partisan reports like they’re children’s books.

It’s easy to forget Charles has an actual PhD in public policy when you see him sitting patiently through town hall meetings where the attendants scream at each other for twenty minutes straight about whether or not to put a copy of _Twilight_ in the city time capsule. But, Erik supposes, someone has to do the heavy lifting and Charles is an eager - nay, _voracious_ \- participant in democracy in all its complicated, ugly splendor. Even on good days, Erik isn’t sure he shouldn’t move to some island and become supreme dictator of his own little world. Unfortunately, Erik doesn’t think he could get Charles to agree to come with, so Erik has to stay right here. But with Charles warm against him, tracing lazy designs on his lower thigh, right here seems like a fine place to be anyhow.

“You think such lovely things about me,” Charles says, abruptly. He leans further into Erik’s touch. “Sometimes I think it’s unfair that I’m the telepath and can pick them up whenever I want, but you’ll never quite know how often I’m thinking of you.”

Erik presses a kiss against Charles’ hair. “Dangerous,” he says.

Half of him is serious, but the other half is desperately pleased, pulse quickening with anticipation. Erik’s not exactly sure what he’s so nervous about. They’re just sitting on the bed, fully clothed, no hint of promised hanky-panky in the air at all. But something is different now between them for some reason. It’s a thing that’s been building and building even since he first arrived at Westchester and got in his first screaming match with Charles in the Parks department’s conference room, if Erik’s honest. He had gone back to this very hotel room that night and spent far too long tossing and turning and fuming at the idiot deputy chair who had no idea how much help he needed and who certainly was not cute in any way whatsoever.

“I love you,” Erik adds quietly. His heart is in his throat, pulse thundering in his ears.

Charles chuckles softly, turning his head so he meets Erik’s anxious gaze. “That’s even more dangerous, I’d say,” he answers, eyes dancing. “But I love you too, of course.”

“Of course,” Erik agrees giddily. He hoped Charles felt the same - and thought he probably did - but still, hearing him say it out loud is enough to make Erik’s whole being light up with triumph and relief and joy. Leaning down, he presses his smiling mouth to Charles’. 

After a moment, they pull apart again, Charles’ hand warm against Erik’s cheek. His brilliant smile makes his eyes sparkle in a way that makes Erik breathless. Erik swallows, wondering at the slight tightness in his throat, but he ultimately pushes it aside and simply grins back. Charles’ expression softens as he runs his thumb over Erik’s cheek for a moment before dipping in for another, quick peck that inevitably ends up lingering for much longer.

Erik feels as if his heart is going to come thudding right out of his chest like a cartoon. He doesn’t even think about what this means with Armando’s no-dating rule still in place. He can’t think of anything except how happy he is and how happy Charles is and how much he wishes he’d taken the chance and told Charles earlier. He could have been saying it this whole time. Such a waste, now that Erik thinks of it.

“There’s plenty of time, Erik,” Charles says, pulling away again. “Plenty. In fact,” he brightens suddenly, “we should probably get back to work! This would be an excellent motivator. Every time we finish a grant we get to take a quick coffee break and make out and tell each other how much we love each other.”

Erik laughs, surprised but also as soon as he thinks about it for a second, not surprised at all. Charles beams.

“It’s a good idea, admit it,” Charles presses.

“Yes,” Erik agrees, cheeks beginning to ache now from smiling. “That sounds fantastic.”

With Charles’ system in place they get through the last half of the grants in what must be record time. As the grey light of dawn just begins to peek in through the windows, Charles closes the last three ring binder of the last grant and sets it on top of the finished stack, straightening up with a look of satisfaction. He turns to Erik, his smile weary but triumphant, and Erik smiles back, his eyelids heavy. Erik reaches out with invisible fingers and feels the hands in Charles’ watch that lies discarded on the bedside table. There’s still several hours before the post office opens. They’ve earned some rest.

Wordlessly, Erik holds out a hand and, once Charles takes it, leads them back to bed, dragging the duvet back with an effort and falling onto the mattress. Charles follows suit, landing beside him with a quiet groan and Erik flicks off the lights with a brush of power. He calls his phone into his hand and sets two alarms, making sure the sound is all the way up before floating the phone over to the nightstand as Charles curls up against him, tangling their feet together.

:: _Alarm on?_ :: Charles sends, too tired to speak apparently.

:: _Yes,_ :: Erik answers, slinging his arm over Charles’ side and closing his eyes, resting their foreheads together.

:: _Good_ ,:: Charles says, adding aloud a last sleepy, “Love you.”

“Love you,” Erik replies. And between one breath and the next, he’s fallen asleep.

******************************** 

An indeterminate number of hours later, Erik is ripped rudely from sleep by a burst of short, quick raps on the bedroom door. He jerks awake, blinking, panicking for a moment that he’s slept through his alarm somehow, but a quick glance to the alarm clock over Charles’ stirring form shows that he hasn’t. There’s about ten minutes until it goes off. 

“What is it?” Charles asks groggily, lifting his head from the pillow, a deep frown on his face.

“Probably just the desk clerk,” Erik says. He starts to extract himself from Charles and slip out of the covers. “They come up to give me messages from the capital sometimes. Stay in bed where it’s warm. I’ll be right back.”

All the blood rushes to his head as Erik stands a little too quickly,  and he has to pause for a moment until the knocking starts up again and he shakes himself, shuffling towards the door. “Just a second!” he calls in a raspy voice. “I’m coming!”

Waving a hand vaguely as he drags himself over to the door, the bolt and chain undo themselves allowing the door to swing open on squeaky hinges while Erik rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“Yes?” he asks around a yawn.

“Erik!”

All at once, the pit falls out of Erik’s stomach and his blood freezes in his veins. His eyes fly open, as does his mouth, and he stares completely dumbstruck at his boss, Armando Muñoz, standing in the doorway holding a carry-out cup holder with three coffees in one hand and a box of doughnuts in the other. 

“I come bearing gifts! Don’t tell me you two have already…” Armando’s eyes slide away from Erik and across the room. Instantly he pauses, eyes widening, as he sees the rumpled bed and its occupant just a few feet away. His gaze flicks back to Erik.

Erik’s mouth goes dry. There’s a rustle of blankets and quick footsteps and suddenly Charles is right next to him, tugging - for some reason - on his arm.

“Armando!” he says, not cheerily enough to cover the desperation or the sleep in his voice. “What a pleasant surprise! Eri - Mr. Lehnsherr and I just finished the grants and were catching a few-”

“Those are Erik’s clothes,” Armando points out, eyebrows raising. He gestures at Charles from head to foot with the doughnut box. “We met on the debate team; I have that t-shirt.”

He pauses and Erik’s heart sinks even further. It feels like all the air has left his lungs. Charles’ hand around his wrist has gone limp. Erik swallows, waiting for the worst. At least he’s laid all his cards on the table with Charles. At least he knows they’re in this together.

The look on Armando’s face is suddenly terribly weary. “Is there something you need to tell me, gentlemen?” he asks.

Erik turns and sees Charles already looking at him and he knows the panic he sees in Charles’ eyes is reflected in his own. The hand around his wrist drops and wraps a little more securely around his fingers. Taking a deep breath, Erik forces himself to look away and back to Armando’s disappointed face. At the same time, he shifts so Charles’ fingers are twined through his: an anchor as he hurtles them both into the unknown.

“Yes,” Erik replies, standing a little straighter, expression set and determined. “Yes there is.”


End file.
